by E. E. Cooper
Brit was good, but she wasn’t perfect. She will have messed up, slipped up, made a mistake. I just needed someone to find it.
Would it be enough to convict her? I wasn’t sure. She’d deny the whole thing, and if I’d learned anything from the situation so far, it was that people wanted to believe Brit. Brit wanted to believe it so much she had practically convinced herself.
Brit might not do jail time, but people would wonder about her. There would be sidelong glances. Questions. The hint of scandal. People would always wonder. She would be smeared with a taint. Like a bad taste in your mouth that you can’t shake. The fact she’d been accused of murder would follow her.
Of course, confessing to murder wasn’t going to do me any favors. I was frightened of what would happen, but not as scared as I was of the idea of doing nothing and living with the knowledge that Brit was out there enjoying her life without having to pay any price at all.
I’d made a list during lunch of all the things I needed to do before tomorrow. Unlike when I confronted Brit in the art room, this time I would take the time to prepare. Make sure I had everything ready to go. Some things were obvious and others were a bit odd. I wanted to clean my room. I suspected after I confessed the police would search it. It seemed absurd that I was willing to let people think I’d kill someone, but I didn’t want them to think I was a slob. I knew people would look through my shelves and rummage through my drawers, and I wanted them to find them in order. To make sure there wasn’t anything I would be embarrassed for them to find: underwear with broken elastic, pages folded over on the steamy parts of various romance novels, or notes from Beth that belonged to me alone.
I fished my phone out of my bag and sent a text to Zach.
I wanted to say I’m sorry again. It’s important to me that you know that hurting you was one of the biggest regrets I have. I know I let you down and for what it’s worth I hope that one of these days I live up to the person you thought I was.
I hit SEND and shoved the phone into my pocket. I had to go. There was still so much to do and not enough time. I didn’t expect to hear back from Zach. There was the chance that he would just skim the message and delete it, but I hoped once everything came to light he would realize that I meant it.
When my alarm went off in the morning I rolled over fully awake in an instant, as if I hadn’t been sleeping but instead recharging for the day ahead. I rubbed the sand out of my eyes and looked around my room. I’d spent hours cleaning last night. There was a small trash bag behind the door. I planned to smuggle it out of the house this morning and drop it in the Dumpster behind Starbucks on the way to school. There wasn’t much that I didn’t want anyone to find, but there was enough, and I couldn’t trust that the cops wouldn’t go through the trash here at the house.
In the end I hadn’t been able to throw away the few notes I had from Beth. I had so little from our time together. Her skin had touched the paper; the handwriting was hers. I’d taken them downstairs and slipped them inside the giant dictionary that sat on the shelf in the living room. No one would find them there, and someday I might need them. I knew I would want them.
I’d done almost everything on my list, except for the last item, which had to wait until this morning. My room was ready. Being compulsive had its benefits: things were already pretty organized. My eyes skipped over the dresser top, everything lined up the way I liked it. My clothes for today were laid out and hung over the back of my desk chair. I’d chosen them carefully. I wondered if I would see my room again. It was likely that they’d send me to jail, although I supposed it was possible they might send me to a mental hospital instead. It was likely I would be gone a long time.
A quick tap on the door made me jump. My dad popped his head in my room. “Good luck.”
I inhaled quickly—did he know something? “With what?”
His regrown eyebrows, still scraggly and uneven from when he’d burned them off in his robot lab, rose into his hairline. “With your exams.”
I made a show of shaking myself awake. “Of course. Although what is it you say, genius doesn’t need luck?”
He chuckled. “Knock ’em dead. Your mom and I are making lasagna tonight, so that should give you something to look forward to.” He stepped back into the hall.
I scrambled out of bed. “Wait a minute.” When I reached him, I patted a hank of his hair that was sticking up in the back and then hugged him. I wanted to hold on to him, but I knew I couldn’t. He would know something was off. “Hug for luck,” I said.
Dad tapped me on the nose. “Always.” He squeezed me again and then headed downstairs. “Your mom made up some granola; it’s in the tub on the counter. Be sure to eat some breakfast. Energy food.”
“I will,” I said, but I wasn’t sure he heard me. I hoped after everything happened he’d remember the hug and know that I loved him and if I could do this without hurting him and my mom I would. I hated the idea that people would make judgments about them, implying that they must have screwed up as parents.
As I was getting out of the shower I heard my mom call out her good-byes and the rumble of the garage door. A part of me wanted to change my mind. I hadn’t taken the final step yet, but there was another part that wanted to race to school and get it over with. It didn’t take long to get dressed. I took a bit of extra time on my hair and makeup. It was vain, but there might be press, and if they took photos I wanted to look good.
When I went downstairs I couldn’t eat anything; my stomach was too tight. I picked up the phone in the kitchen and looked at the clock. This was the last thing on my list.
“Hey, sis. What’s up?”
Nadir’s voice felt like liquid Valium. “I called so you could wish me good luck on my exams and I’ll do the same for you,” I said.
He laughed. “I’m done. I took my last test yesterday and I turn in my final paper today. I’ll be spending the rest of the week eating Mexican food, drinking beer, and sleeping late.”
“Sure, rub it in.” I was glad his exams were over; at least he wouldn’t have to cope with those when this went public.
“Hello?” Nadir said, jolting me back to our conversation.
“What?” I said. “Sorry, I got distracted.”
“You call me and then you don’t even listen. Way to make a guy feel boring.”
“I’m sorry.” My voice cracked.
“Easy. I’m just teasing you. I was just asking what exams you’ve got today.”
My mind was completely blank. “I can’t remember,” I confessed.
Nadir was quiet. “You don’t remember?”
I realized how bizarre that must sound. “I called because I wanted to make sure you know who I am—I mean, no matter what else anyone might say.”
“Is this about the stuff from Windsor Prep? Mom told me people at school were talking about it.”
“No,” I said. “I mean, yes, in part. It’s just that people say all kinds of stuff—you know how it is. They get ideas in their heads because they’ve heard part of a story, or because they make assumptions and that doesn’t tell the whole story.”
“Yeah, sure,” Nadir said.
“I want you to know that I’m still your sister, that you know me, that the stuff they say isn’t necessarily the whole truth.” I scrambled to try to explain without tipping my hand.
“Listen, Kay-Kay, is everything okay?”
A harsh laugh, shrill, escaped my throat. Things were so far from okay I couldn’t even see it from here. “There are things I need to do, things that are important, and I want you to know that while it might not look like it, the reason I’m doing it is because it is the right thing to do.” I shut my mouth. I was babbling. I’d been so sure of what I’d wanted to say, but now it was coming out all garbled and wrong.
“What are you talking about, Kalah?” I could hear Nadir’s confusion through the phone and also his increasing unease.
“I don’t care what other people think of me, but your opinion matters.�
�� I swallowed hard. “It matters a lot.” That was the most important thing I’d wanted him to know. Nadir and I had always teased each other, and there were times I hated how he seemed to do everything first and better, but he was my older brother. I needed him to look past what I was going to tell everyone. I needed him to believe in his heart, to know, that I wasn’t capable of anything like that.
“Are you upset that Nicole didn’t know anything about Brit?”
“Not really. Not anymore,” I said.
“Kay-Kay, are Mom and Dad around?”
I wiped my nose. I had to pull myself together. If I couldn’t get through this conversation with Nadir, how was I going to handle the rest of the day? “They’ve gone to work,” I said.
“I’m worried about you,” Nadir said. There was no joking in his voice.
I closed my eyes and just let myself feel the love he had for me. Someday I hoped he would understand. “I’ll be okay,” I said. “Look, I have to go. I’ve got to get to school.”
“No, wait. Listen, let’s talk a bit longer—”
“Don’t be silly. You’ve got to drop off that paper, and I’ve got exams. You’ve got beer to drink, enchiladas to eat. We’ll talk later.”
I knew he was about to say something else. Maybe tell me to wait on the line while he used another phone to call one of our parents, but I didn’t give him the chance. “Love you,” I said and hung up the phone. I grabbed my stuff and looked around the kitchen.
I ran my hand over the porcelain chicken and rooster my mom had inherited from her grandparents. She and my dad had declared them to be the ugliest things on the planet, but they said this with affection, and they’d had a place of honor in our kitchen as long as I could remember. There was a cooking magazine on the island with a Post-it note marking something they planned to make later in the week. The table was a mess: my mom’s book club book, Donna Tartt’s The Secret History, my dad’s Servo magazine, and even one of my textbooks mixed up with parts of the newspaper, granola crumbs, and a stack of bills from the mail. My parents had left their coffee cups out and I took them from the table, rinsed them, and placed them in the dishwasher. I put the mail on the desk and stacked the books and magazine. Finally I wiped the table down. There was nothing left to do. I shut the door quietly and locked it behind me. Even if Nadir called my parents they wouldn’t be able to stop me now.
It was time to end this.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I half expected the school to look different when I arrived. Like the building itself should recognize what a monumental event was about to occur. I stood in the parking lot and looked up at Northside, its yellow brick exterior nearly gleaming in the bright sun. I’d considered going directly to the police station, but it seemed somehow fitting to do it here. Where I met Brit and Beth. Where all of it started. Besides, this was scary enough without having to face down the front door of the police station.
It was funny that school now felt safe. The first day of my sophomore year I’d been terrified to go inside. Northside was easily three or four times the size of Windsor Prep. A sprawling two-story building connected by a covered overhang to an annex that had been built years later when the student population kept growing. I’d never gone to school anywhere that big. However, by the end of the first day I’d fallen in love with the place. Unlike Windsor I could blend into the crowds and disappear if I wanted. I loved the bright-colored posters all over the walls encouraging people to cheer for the football team or come to the next volleyball game. There was blue and gold everywhere—the place practically dripped school spirit. There were notices about debate matches, glee clubs, play try-outs, study groups, and even a group that got together to watch sci-fi movies—SpaceGeeks. I’d seen right away that at Northside I could be anyone I wanted to be. By the end of that first week I’d spotted the notice about field hockey and known I was going to give it a try.
Once Brit and Beth had taken me into their circle, Northside had gotten even better. I’d liked how other people looked at me in the halls, like I was someone. I enjoyed coming around a corner and seeing people look at me and smile. Friends calling out greetings, saving me a seat at lunch and assemblies. I’d fit in. I’d liked it here.
I wove my way through the crowds in the hall. I saw Brit surrounded by a group of our teammates. As soon as she spotted me she poked Melissa in the ribs and said something to her. Melissa and a few others laughed. Kate looked uncomfortable. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked away.
I took a few more steps and then realized what the latest round of whispers was about. Someone had scribbled Crazy Bitch in black Sharpie across the front of my locker. I stared at the words. They looked almost carved into the gray paint.
There were a few more snickers. I turned; Brit was watching me with a huge smile on her face. I smiled back. She didn’t look good. I couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong; her hair was still perfect and there were no dark circles under her eyes, but she looked strained. As if any moment she would fly apart into a million pieces.
Talking to Nadir had reminded me of something: I’d survived before. I could survive now. What most people thought of me didn’t matter. When things had blown up with Madison at my last school I’d been so certain my world was ending, but it hadn’t. I’d started over. Somehow, someway I’d start over again. Brit was tight perfection; she had no flex. She would break. I would bend and give.
Sara was on the far side of the hall. I could tell she’d seen the locker and Brit and her posse laughing. I couldn’t tell if she felt sorry for me, or maybe she thought I’d gotten what I deserved for being friends with Britney.
Maybe it was as simple as she was glad someone else had Brit’s attention. Soon, like everyone else, she’d assume I was guilty, but maybe some small part of her would get it. Put together my confession with my apology. Or at least know that if I could have changed things I would have. She was one of the few totally innocent people in this whole mess. I tossed a few things into my locker and slammed it shut, putting the past behind me.
The bell rang and a shot of adrenaline shot through my system. This was it. Brit watched me walk down the hall. I could tell she wanted to know where I was going. She knew my schedule. She knew I was supposed to be going down B wing, but instead I was headed in the opposite direction. I wondered if she would follow me all the way to the office, if she had any idea what I was about to do. I was tempted to start skipping, but instead I kept my pace slow and steady. Almost regal.
Brit turned to watch my progress, and I could feel her unease coming off her, as if it were a smell. I lifted my chin a bit higher.
I might be a crazy bitch, but she was about to discover just how much of a bitch I was capable of being.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I had assumed once I confessed to murder I’d have everyone’s full attention, but I was stuck sitting alone in the office lobby while Ms. Harding and Mr. Hamstead argued in his office. The school secretary was charged with keeping an eye on me, and she jumped anytime I shifted in the chair. Maybe she thought I was going to chase her down and club her with a stapler.
When I’d first come into the office the secretary had told me in a snooty voice that I couldn’t see Mr. Hamstead without an appointment. Like he was the president of the country, instead of a principal. It hadn’t occurred to me that I might get sent away from the office before I even had a chance to get things started. I had to make this happen now. Brit’s family was starting renovations any day. It was now or never. I had a flash of panic, but then realized I didn’t have to do what she said. If I was about to be branded as a homicidal maniac, I could handle being thought of as noncompliant with some puffed-up-with-her-own-self-importance school secretary. I insisted I wasn’t going to leave the office. The end of her nose twitched; she looked like an angry rabbit. It was setting up to be a standoff when Ms. Harding came in and asked what the problem was.
“I want to talk to Mr. Hamstead,” I said.
“And I�
��ve clarified that Miss Richards needs to make an appointment; this isn’t a drop-in center.” The secretary sniffed.
“Is there something I can help with?” Ms. Harding offered.
“I’ve come to confess that I murdered Beth Taylor.”
That got the smug, pinched look off the secretary’s face, and suddenly it seemed perhaps Mr. Hamstead could fit me into his busy schedule.
Mr. Hamstead and Ms. Harding stood in front of me while I repeated my claim. “I killed Beth, but I didn’t do it alone.”
“You mean you feel guilty about her death, not that you did anything,” Ms. Harding tried to clarify. The blood drained out of her head and her mouth, coated in lipstick, looked unnaturally bright, like a slash across her face.
“No, I mean we murdered her. There’s another killer in this school: Britney. I’m here to confess to you. And Officer Siegel too. I want her to be here.”
Mr. Hamstead started to fire off questions, but Ms. Harding cut him off. She’d dragged him into his office. I could hear her telling him that I was mentally unwell and that they needed to be careful about what I was asked. She was worried about how vulnerable I might be. Ms. Harding insisted they should call the police and my parents before asking me anything else.
I suspected Hamstead was far less sympathetic about my vulnerability but did worry that if I was asked something without a lawyer or my parents, the school might somehow be found responsible for shirking their duty. He had to know this was going to be a big deal, an our-school-in-the-media kind of deal, and he wanted to make sure everything was done correctly so he couldn’t be blamed. The secretary had been summoned to get my parents’ work numbers from the system.
